I feel compelled to ask What is life? Why is it? Is there any purpose to my particular birth? My being?
Lupus is such that every day my body decides whether or not it will let me live. How I'll feel, how long I can stand on my feet, sit on my pitying ass, and walk the old bones. And most likely, I don't argue about it or get my parents or friends involved. I live in hope. And patience. That each day will be fine, regardless of the physical pain followed by the growing emotional distress. I'm actually contemplating about seeing a therapist, finally. Do you know how difficult it is to live in hope, patiently waiting for that day when I'll possibly be pain-free? Don't know how plausible it is, but it is possible. Isn't it?
Every now and then I ask Allah (God). Why produce a being so useless? But the last month or so, I've become so faithful about my existence through prayer. I don't question existence. Rather, I question the virtues of patience and hope. I ask Him to bestow me with patience and the willpower to endure the pains...as if miraculously it will all be gone one day. It's possible, isn't it? Is it enough?
I really wish I had my body to myself. Though I believe my mind and body are separate entities, the two fundamentally work together to produce what I am. I believe after four years of living Lupus, my mind is all I've got. The body is essentially present, but I know, it's not with me.
Walking. I miss it. I'm mobile, but not mobile enough. And my ego is such that I'm ashamed to carry a cane. And ironically, I rather limp. But I know what it is. It's the yearning to stay absolutely independent. Or I'm probably afraid of embarrassment. It's mind boggling to me that I rather limp, a visible weakness and imbalance. At least with a cane the walk would be less wobbly and more steady. I don't understand myself.
Some days, I walk with ease and comfort...I don't want to stop. The happiness that comes from a day of pain-free walking is unlike any other feeling of pleasure. Well, I'm still waiting for sex to happen. That might top walking. Other days, it's as if I'm dragging my legs to do the walking. The mind, trying its best to push and persuade, fails. I remember the time when walking was so automatic. Without any thought or attention, I'd walk and walk. Now, if I'm lucky, actually it's not luck anymore. The body is too stubborn to walk with me.
Is the mind enough to live a life like this? I'm alive, but without the support of a body, am I living?
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